


It Burns Like A Fire

by shinyraichu



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Angst, Cranks, Gen, Guilt, Ivy trio, Mental Instability, Newts POV, Poor!Newt, Suicide mention(s), The Crank Palace, There is next to nothing to tag in a TMR fanfic, its sitting in my docs getting dusty, not slashy but I guess you imagine it that way, thats sad, this was written ages ago
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-09
Updated: 2017-03-09
Packaged: 2018-10-01 16:15:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10193750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinyraichu/pseuds/shinyraichu
Summary: He was lounging on an old worn down sofa, arms thrown over his eyes, blanket pulled up to his chin and resting when the Berg’s entrance suddenly opens with a hiss. Feet stomp in and there’s a clatter as things are moved about. He doesn’t even have time to hide when they storm into the back, guns brandished and voices raised. One of them, a blond heavyset male, throws Newt to the ground as another whips out some kind of scanner. The second one swipes the scanner over Newt’s forehead, and when Newt hears the thing start to blare he finally thinks this is it, and Tommy didn’t even have to do it after all.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this forever ago when I had finished the series and there wasn't a whole lot of talk of the movie or anything outside of the fans visualization.
> 
> This was orginally going to be over 6k work but my depression kicked in and well... obviously didn't happen.
> 
> Now please be gentle I haven't wrote anything for the TMR in a long time and I couldn't remember, or have a proper image on what the Crank Palace would've looked like so I am sorry if I made things terribly different!

 

 

 

     Newt feels it. He feels it stirring under his skin, buzzing, moving, writhing. It terrifies him. It makes him angry, irritable.

 

He’s felt it ever since Janson had told them all about those that had contracted the Flare. It’s only increased with time and he feels himself coming apart by the seams, being torn apart further with each passing day until at some point he’ll finally be split in half. Newt experiences an almost dream like state, nothing feels real. Not when he escapes with Thomas and everyone else. Not when he fights with the WICKED guards and gets electrified about a dozen times by shock grenades. His emotional pain is dulled by the insistent and never ending throbbing in his brain. It’s almost like a clock. A bomb. Tick tock, tick tock. He thinks constantly of the Cranks they all encountered the first time they escaped the Maze. The Cranks that had looked like crazy personified. Drooling lips, scabbed and flaky skin, bald patches and rotten teeth. If there’s been a thing Newt’s been more sure of it’s this: for him to not to turn into a Crank. He just really hopes Thomas will read the note at the right moment. He can’t also but help but wish it’s soon.

 

_ Please don't let me become a Crank, Tommy. _

  
  
  


   When Thomas and the others exit the Berg with hopes of entering Denver in search of Teresa and this mysterious Hans fellow, Newt knows something bad will happen soon. He’s proven right just a mere two hours later. He was lounging on an old worn down sofa, arms thrown over his eyes, blanket pulled up to his chin and resting when the Berg’s entrance suddenly opens with a hiss. Feet stomp in and there’s a clatter as things are moved about. He doesn’t even have time to hide when they storm into the back, guns brandished and voices raised. One of them, a blond heavyset male, throws Newt to the ground as another whips out some kind of scanner. The second one swipes the scanner over Newt’s forehead, and when Newt hears the thing start to blare he finally thinks  _ this is it, and Tommy didn’t even have to do it after all. _

But they don’t kill him. They yank him upwards, nearly pulling his arm out of his socket, and slap metal cuffs over his wrists.

He doesn’t register what they’re asking him and it’s only when they’re trying to take him off the Berg does it finally register what’s going to happen. They’re taking him to a contained and infected area, away from the other immunes. Newt starts to panic, tears pricking his eyes as he pleads with them. The blond one looks annoyed as the second looks sympathetic. They finally relent and allow him to write a short note. So when Newt is given a pad of paper and pen thrust into his hand he just jots down something short, if he had been given more time he would’ve said more. But he can’t. Partly because of the impending time frame and inability to come up with anything more. That’s another thing he’s noticed. He can’t think clearly. All of his thoughts are a jumbled confused mess, constantly jumping and leaping, unable to contain one strain of thought.

 

He leaves the note on the sofa, folded up with Thomas and Minho’s name on the back in a shaky scrawl. He’s lead off the Berg and lead onto another ship, but this time he’s placed in a containment cell with two other infected. A mother and her child by the looks of it. The little girl’s restrained in a jacket, her mouth foaming with blood and some odd green substance as she yells and yells. The mother is crying hysterically, begging and pleading, with God and the Red Shirts. Newt tries to ignore them for the better part of the hour but finds himself crying with them, his heart clenching painfully in his chest. He’s going to the Crank Palace and he’s never felt so scared. Not after his fall from the wall, from Alby and Chuck’s death, nothing even remotely comes close to what he’s feeling. Somehow, along the way, Newt manages to fall asleep and he’s grateful for it. Grateful for the oblivion and bliss, no matter how short.

  
  
  


He’s awakened hours later by a rough hand and an equally rough voice barking at him.

“Get up. We’ve reached the the Infected Zone.”

Newt swallows against the dry lump in his throat and he stands up on wobbly legs, swaying. He’s thankful that guard has such strong hands, he’s the only thing that’s currently keeping Newt up. Newt fears the moment the guard lets go he’ll fall down and won’t ever get back up again. He’s lead off the ship down a ramp and into a fenced-in area of a ramshackle deserted town. It's not really deserted though. Guards are spread out around things entrance and exit, a tall but thin chain link fences  separating them citizens of the town.

Newt doesn't know why he's so surprised that the palace for Cranks isn't really a palace at all but decrepit slabtown. Newt's shoved forward with rough hand from the middle of his back, sending him tumbling down the ramp. Laughter echoes across the plains and Newt is in too much pain to really care. He struggles to his knees and trembles at the prospect of having to live out the rest of his  _ sane _ days here. The guard that had pushed him now grasped at the collar of his shirt, hauling Newt up to his feet.

“Fresh meat, boys!”

The guards all laughed, amused. Newt's stomach twists with something awful and he's sure that if there had been food in his stomach he would've thrown up. He probably would've aimed for the guard’s shoes too.

As they draw near the fence another guard pushes a button from the inside and the entrance slides open slowly. There he's handed off to medical personnel by doctors and nurses in hazmat suits. Everything is cold and impersonal, making Newt feel like he's not even human. He's given a small pile of used clothes and scratchy blanket before he's ushered further into the town. For awhile he walks in peace, alone but content. He doesn't want to meet any other residents of the Crank palace, not too sure he can stomach it. But as he draws further in he can hear off distant screams and shrieks, all of it sounding like something out of a nightmare. He also sees quick and shadowy figures that disappear just as soon as he turns to look. The farther he goes in he can feel millions of eyes on his back, assessing and waiting. Newt feels like prey. For awhile he wanders around aimlessly, clutching the blanket and clothes to his chest like a protective shield , but he manages to find shelter in an abandon store closet once night falls. He's terribly grateful that the lock still works on the door and that he'll be somewhat safe during the night. Unfortunately, however, he didn't get much sleep that night. Everything outside was too haunting, too terrifying. Shrill screams, snarls and indignant shouting played on repeat all night long. It didn't help that he felt so terribly lonely inside, use to falling asleep with Minho’s loud snores and Thomas snuggling him in the bed they all shared. Newt wrapped his arms around himself in a sad, pathetic parody and promptly sobbed.

**Author's Note:**

> Erm, did ya like it?


End file.
